


The Vengeful One

by Deancebra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (over)protective!cas, Angel Marking, Angel Wings, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Blood and Gore, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Imprisonment, M/M, Marking, Murder, Non-Con/Rape Outside of Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slave Dean, Slavery, murder!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deancebra/pseuds/Deancebra
Summary: “As I survey the chaos, taking in the lack of raw humanityIt’s as if the entire world’s fallen in love with their insanity”Castiel, the Vengeful One had for centuries made the population of earth quiver by the mere mention of his name. Even among his own kin he was feared for his ruthlessness, his cold and merciless killing of those who did not follow his Code. For the first time since he walked earth his form had been bound by magic as old as the universe. Castiel could never have foreseen the consequences the capture or rescue of his inmate would have for him until he finds himself as one of the monsters he had sworn to kill.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to the wonderful [Myukur](https://myukur.tumblr.com/)  
> who is the genious behind the illustrations. I will let her paintings talk for themselves. 
> 
> And to [Teacass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/pseuds/teacass)  
> for putting up with beta'ing this. If not for her, there would be approx 200 mistakes for you to point out. 
> 
> Read the tags and warnings and proceed with caution. The dubios consent is between Dean and Cas - but as a reader I doubt you are in doubt of who wants what. But since nothing is ever really confirmed I figured that I would warn.  
> If graphic descriptions (and they are graphic) of violence and cold-blooded murder (and sex) ain't your cup of tea, consider not reading this.

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Castiel found himself brooding in the library of his castle. The weather mirrored his mood to perfection, dark grey clouds letting earth and heaven be one, rain so heavy that no soul would dare go outside. For a moment, he let himself watch the pouring rain while inhaling the familiar smell of smoke, dust, and leather-bound books.

It was not without reason that he had fled to the library. There had been plans. The human had never been part of those, but then again, neither had being captured or harmed. They had shared the darkness and Castiel had not found it in himself to leave him behind. For the first time in millennia he was not alone in his castle. If he reached out, he could feel the soul of the human, shining as bright as the sun currently hidden behind clouds.

“Why are you sulking in here?” the voice interrupted his thoughts.

Castiel spun around, watching the human, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe. How had he gotten out? Castiel had locked the door behind him, making sure the human would stay in the bedroom, giving him some much needed time alone.

“Get out,” he snarled, feeling the annoyance tear at his insides. His raven wings flared threateningly, his patience worn thin already. How could the human not understand that being locked in was not a suggestion on staying put? It was a clear order.

The human just stared at him, lips pulled tight in stubbornness. Emotions ran through the green eyes faster than Castiel could follow. But as far as he could tell, fear was not among them. It should have been. Time passed as the angel and human watched one another – Castiel wondering why the human did not flee in fear, the human thinking about god knew what. At times, it looked as if the human were about to open his mouth and say something, but then changed his mind.

Pink tongue darted out, licking the lips. Castiel was mesmerized, unable to tear his gaze away from the view.

Then the human spoke again.

“Why am I here?” he asked.

“I saved you,” Castiel answered like that should have been the most obvious in the world.

“Yes, I gathered that, thank you very much.” He sighed. “What I don’t understand is why you saved me from one prison to put me into another.”

“You are not a prisoner.”

“Why did you lock me up, then?”

Castiel did not have an answer for that, so he settled for silence. The human did not agree with that.

“Who are you?” he asked instead, like the silence was annoying him. Maybe it was. Castiel would not know, being so used to it.

For a moment, Castiel considered not answering that either. If he did, the man would get his name, know his deeds. Humankind had learned to fear him almost as fast as his celestial brothers and sisters. The green eyes belonging to the most annoying human he had ever encountered were the first in centuries that had not looked upon him with fear or disgust. He should not want it to stay that way.

“Cas,” he settled on. It was close enough to his name that he was not lying.

“I’m Dean. Nice to meet you.”

Castiel huffed. They had met in the cells deep underground where his wings had been staked and the burning energy of his grace hard to access, magic so heavy that it had made breathing difficult binding him to the place. Dean had talked, keeping the darkness at bay with his soft tales. Castiel had mostly listened, making small sounds to acknowledge Dean’s tales. To let him know that he was still there. Still listening. At a single occasion, he had used his precious air to tell Dean about a childhood memory of his. When Dean had not talked, Castiel had listened to the calming sound of his breathing, even in and out. At times it had been ragged or disrupted by pain or nightmares. Much to his surprise, he had found himself angry at those who had caused Dean to breathe like that.

They had never exchanged names down in the dark, both sure they would die down there.

Arrogance and laziness was what got them free. Their captors seemed to think they had tamed Castiel as time passed and he made no movements towards freedom. He had taken Dean with him before fleeing the place. His cell had not been warded like Castiel’s had been and breaking the welded iron bars had been child’s play for someone like him. The human had been too weak to walk on his own, passing out as soon as he tried. The angel had not minded carrying him. He had noticed how attractive Dean had been as soon as they were outside in the sun, where he could see him for the first time. At times, it had seemed like the human was waking up, but never for more than moving or mumbling incoherently. Apparently, the human’s body and mind could only take so much. Getting back to his castle had taken him longer than he had liked, the additional weight putting a strain on his wings that had already been sore from the lack of use.

He had healed Dean once back in safety, then the human slept it off in the locked guestroom. Castiel had no desire for a stranger walking around his premises. A lot of his things could be mortally dangerous to the human if handled wrong. Once sure Dean was sound asleep and would stay like that for hours, he had prepared a meal from scratch. His grace was worn out and he found it calming to make a simple soup. Dean had gotten meals down underground, but he doubted the quality. Humans were fragile things and he knew from observation that too heavy food would make Dean sick. He had left the food on a small table in the room, along with a set of spare clothing, given that Dean’s wasn’t worth trying to clean. Then he had locked the door again before leaving. He was sure of it.

“How did you get out of the bedroom?”

“I picked the lock,” Dean answered matter-of-factly. He relaxed the crossed arms, letting them fall down to his sides before moving closer to Castiel.

“Oh.”

“You never told me that you were an angel.” The green eyes were even more astonishing close up.

“You never asked.” He replied with a shrug. It had not seemed relevant, down there, to tell anything really. Dean had not shared that he was human either, just like he had never told Castiel his name.

“I imagined you differently,” Dean admitted as he looked over Castiel. Was it just his imagination that the human’s gaze lingered at his lips before moving down?

When Castiel kept quiet, Dean took it as a cue to continue.

“Your voice… It… It made me imagine you a lot older than you seem to be.” Dean hesitated.

“How old do you think I am, Dean?” Castiel asked, voice dipping even lower than usual.

The human shivered at the sound of his name on Castiel’s lips but did not answer the question. He could not, possibly, make a good guess as Castiel had been around long before mankind had.

A few moments passed in silence with Dean moving closer towards the fire. Castiel had the library kept warm to ensure the books’ survival. The rest of the castle was not heated. Castiel frowned. Maybe Dean was freezing. He continued to observe the human moving slowly, never turning his back to Castiel, the initial trust gone and how his entire expression just melted when he got close enough to the fire to feel its heat.

“You can sit.” Castiel nodded towards the chairs in front of the fireplace. Even without needing the heat he still enjoyed sitting close, reading.

Castiel moved towards the window, staring out into the pouring rain. For a moment, he let himself forget about the human that currently inhabited one of his chairs. He was not able to see much, so he opened the window to breath in the cool freshness of rain and thunder. Soft noises of movement told him that Dean was uneasy, probably having a mind filled with questions left unanswered. Sighing, Castiel closed the window before taking the seat in front of the human, waiting for him to ask yet again.

Ask he did indeed. Why was Castiel living alone in a gigantic castle? How long had he been out? Where were they? Why did he have so many books? Were there fireplaces other than in the library?

Castiel could afterwards not remember half of the questions. He had been too busy during their conversation, listening to the familiar rumble of Dean's voice while trying to put it together with the face that he had not seen before that day. He was beautiful, the human that was. Even pale and underweight from his imprisonment, he had a strength about him like nothing could shake his core. Brows almost met in a frown as he kept his gaze on Castiel while questioning him. His face was sharp and angular, nose strong and straight when he turned his head. Breaking the sharpness were almost feminine lips and big green eyes with dark lashes framing them. He was breathtaking in all ways of the word.

“Can I go home?” Dean asked.

“No.” It came out a little too fast.

Dean noticed that too. It was the first time during their conversation that Castiel had actually displayed emotions.

“Why not?” Dean’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“It is dangerous.” Castiel could tell that Dean was on the edge of asking more questions. “The ones that captured you are still out there. You will be in danger if you go out on your own. I am not letting you do that.”

“I can fight for myself.”

“Exactly how well did that work out the last time?” Castiel snapped. Dean leaving would mean Dean getting caught again. Castiel would not let that happen.

Dean chose not to answer that. They both knew the answer. Castiel still had no idea why Dean had been tugged away into that hole, and he did not ask, just like Dean had not asked him and probably wouldn’t do.

 

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Even without wanting the answer to as of why Dean had been holed up in the darkness, he got it after a few weeks. Branded into his shoulder was the mark of slavery. It had been an accident, walking in on him changing clothes. Dean’ stomach dipped in at his hipbones, ribs stood out way too far. Castiel had noted him being very light when carrying him to the castle, but had not realized exactly how underweight he was. He could not imagine someone being less suitable for slavery. The human was mouthy, annoying, and stood up for himself. He drove Castiel crazy several times a day. Honestly, Castiel was not shocked that he had gotten himself down the darkness, most likely as a punishment for unwanted behavior, or for a new owner to break him down before the unwanted even occurred.

Dean hurried to get his shirt on, covering the mark. His entire stance reeked of fear, eyes big like a deer staring at the predator, hoping not to be noticed if it kept still. Unlike the deer, Dean didn’t. He practically ran out of the bedroom, hurrying away from Castiel, like he had been the one lifting the glowing brand and setting it to his sensitive skin. For the briefest moment, they were close enough that the angel could have grabbed him, dragging him in. He did not. He sensed the heat, that close they were for the briefest of time.

He pretended to stumble upon Dean in the library several hours later. His heartbeat had been like the one of a scared rabbit for hours. Castiel had not listened on purpose. It had been impossible to ignore, thumping through the walls of the castle that for the longest of time had only contained him. He had tried busying himself, but in the end he had just tuned in on the heartbeat, waiting for it to calm.

It was not really a surprise that Dean was sleeping, curled into a ball in one of the chairs in the library, when Castiel entered. In no way could that be comfortable, his entire body twisted in weird ways. They had been sharing the castle for weeks, and it was the first Cas had seen Dean display any kind of emotion other than gratitude for food or when he made sure there was enough wood for his fireplace. Humans found emotions exhausting, he knew. For a while, he debated waking Dean up, getting him into bed. In the end, he simply picked up the sleeping human and carried him down to his room. With delight, he noted that Dean felt heavier than he had the last time Castiel had carried him. He thought very hard about that rather than how a pleasantly warm feeling of something spread inside of him when Dean inched closer, forehead resting against Castiel’s neck while he was carried.

 

“’s weird, Cas,” Dean mumbled, looking at him through half-lidded, drowsy eyes.

“What is?” Castiel asked, baffled. He had made himself comfortable in Dean's room while he slept.

“You staring at me while I sleep,” the human answered like that should have been obvious. His eyes slowly opened more, lips parted ever so slightly.

“Oh,” Castiel replied, not sure what else to say. It had been long since he had last interacted with anyone, and even with Dean around he found himself keeping quiet more often than not.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to ensure that you are alright.”

“I am. You can go.”

“You seemed immensely distressed when I saw your branding. Why?”

Dean sighed, staring into the air for so long that Castiel thought it unlikely for him to answer.

“Because you must know what it means. That I am not a free man. There is no ‘home’ for me to go back to, Cas. I don’t… I…” If not for the seriousness of the situation, Castiel would have found his nervous lipbiting endearing. It was not when Dean used it to cover up emotions. “You must know what they use slaves for,” he added in a raw voice, shortly locking green eyes to Castiel’s blue.

“What did they do to you?”

“I would rather not…”

“What. Did. They. Do?” Castiel was surprised by the anger and passion in his own voice. How the thought of someone hurting Dean got his blood boiling and his stomach twist with the want to hurt them. His fists were clenched as if ready to hurt.

Dean started talking.

He had been orphaned as a child. Some locals had taken him in, given him a home and love and everything that should have been his denied after the horrible fire. His new parents had an infant, which he saw as his brother. He had loved Samuel, protected him. Years passed and Dean had been happy. Until his new dad had died and the winter and harvest had turned bad. There had been no choice but to put Dean on the market. Dean had suggested it himself, coaxed his new mom until she had agreed. He would do anything to keep Sammy fed, even if it meant he could never see him again.

At first, it had not been too bad. He had worked, he had been fed, clothed, and treated with some dignity. That was, until he came of age and was sold again. He grew too much. He was too big. They feared they could not handle him. Nameless strangers had discussed if he was even worth their pennies, if he wouldn’t just be a burden. He had grown up as a free child. Who said he didn’t want that freedom back? Dean had tried to look smaller. He had tried not eating to look less like someone who could be dangerous. But no one would buy him. No one wanted him and the slave trader kept dragging him from market to market.

At last, he had succeeded in selling Dean.

Dean had been hopeful. It couldn’t get much worse, could it?

It had started out with small things. He had gotten less food than he needed, always kept on the edge of hunger and starvation. He bruised easily, got exhausted, felt weak. They had put down his rations even more, when he had dared asking, in the politest of ways, if he could have more.

Then, once sure that he had been pliant and willing to do whatever needed for food, they had started bringing in the women. All had been slaves they wished to impregnate, creating kids who never knew anything but slavery. With his size and strength, he had been the perfect candidate, they had told him, promising food if he did as he were told. He had fucked every one of them without feeling it, too numb with hunger to care about the future generations. What his children could be put through. But if not him, they would find another unlucky bastard. They had fed him afterwards, let him eat what he could keep down, then starved him until next time.

Once enough women had been confirmed pregnant by a healer, he had been thrown into the cells where he had met Cas. Until the women had birthed their children, he was not needed, he was just a mouth to be fed. Even in his weakened state, they still feared him, it seemed.

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” Dean ended his tale, voice raw.

“They will pay for what they have done to you. I knew it was bad. I had no idea how horrible they had turned,” Cas promised him.

Dean looked baffled, like he had anticipated something else from Castiel.

“Why were you down there?” he asked, and Castiel knew he referred to the darkness.  

“I was imprisoned for killing,” he told truthfully, a wry smile around his lips. If they had known exactly how much killing he had done, they would never have gotten careless around him.

“Killing?”

“Yes. I took their organization as a personal insult and decided to tear it down. Easiest way to do that is to kill the men behind it,” Castiel explained, wings spreading with pride. He had known before, but Dean’s story explained so much that he had previously not been aware of. Things that had made him puzzled before were explained with that.

“You kill?” Dean was frowning, obviously confused by the information given to him.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t angels supposed to be good?”

“No. I was created as a warrior,” Castiel told him. “That haven’t changed, even though I no longer inhabit heaven.”

“Why not?” Was the human ever going to run out of questions? Castiel somehow doubted that very much. In the past weeks, nothing had suggested that it could happen. He had very much managed to come off as a free man.

“I was thrown out.”

“Why?”

“I did unforgivable things.” Castiel shrugged like it did not matter. It did. But time had taught him to pretend otherwise.

Dean had nothing to add to that, so they kept quiet.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean would have been lying if he had said that he was by no means attracted to Cas. The angel was so very human that he could almost forget that he wasn’t. Sometimes the angel looked at him with such intensity that Dean found himself wondering if Cas could see his soul, or what other reason he could possibly have to stare so much. Sometimes he had to remind the angel of such a thing as personal space, causing him to scrunch up his forehead in confusion as he stepped back just a little. He felt that he should be more annoyed with it than he was.

After that first night when Cas had carried him to bed, it seemed to happen more often. Occasionally, Dean drifted off while the angel was reading in the opposite chair, lulled to sleep by the sound of the fire and the soft sounds of pages being turned along with inhales and exhales. Cas wasn’t there when he woke up, but he always knew, somehow, having breakfast prepared for Dean once he stumbled out of his bedroom, bleary-eyed.

Dean did not ask how. Cas did not tell.

They grew more comfortable with one another. He was no longer on guard, Cas having seen his mark.

“Do you know how to read, Dean?”

Dean stopped, baffled, staring at the angel. “No.” He felt his face turn into a confused frown. Not many knew how to read, books were expensive and common men had only little to no use for that ability. It was something for the noble ones.

“Do you want to?” Cas cocked his head ever so slightly, blue eyes piercing Dean.

Dean swallowed before nodding.

Cas’ face transformed into a bright smile. “I will teach you, then,” he promised.

It became a thing, Cas using an hour or two a day teaching Dean the basics of reading. The letters and their sounds first, simple, simple words. Dean found himself learning fast, his brain filled with the new knowledge at night when he closed his eyes. Cas seemed to enjoy himself as well, even though he was carefully maintaining a certain distance when teaching Dean.

The angel turned out to be a lot more patient with Dean than Dean was with himself. Some days he felt as if he had learned almost every word worth learning, others he was frustrated with the lag of progress.

“Why don’t you just give up, Cas? Why do you keep trying to get me to understand? I am not worth the time!” he had wanted to yell, but the words came out with too much self-hatred for a raised voice.

The angel had leaned into his personal space, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. Warmth spread through Dean’s body from where only a thin layer of fabric kept them from touching skin to skin.

“You are to me, Dean,” the angel told him sincerely, seemingly not understanding his protests. His brows were furrowed over the ridiculously blue eyes as if something confused him. Dean had noticed that quite a lot, when he expressed emotions, that the angel seemed to have a challenging time grasping.

Dean knew he should thank Cas. Possibly just do something other than looking at him, like he did not understand a thing that was going on.

They continued to read together.

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It took him a while to realize that he was attracted to Cas. At first, he had been a solid pillar for him to hold onto in a world, where nothing else had been left for him to live for, but it slowly became more than that. By all standards, feathery wings and all, Cas was to be considered attractive. His face was framed by seemingly untamable almost-black hair, blue eyes framed by long dark lashes. But he was a _guy_.

Still, Dean found himself fancying Cas, seeking him out whenever he thought he would not find Dean disturbing.  

It became hard not to lean into Cas’ space when they read together. The angel had decided to teach Dean math as well, meaning that they spent hours together in the library, studying. It seemed that teaching someone gave Cas some sort of purpose.

“I need to leave for supplies tonight,” he warned Dean every time before he left, so that he would not wander around, seeking an angel that wasn’t there. Dean spent those nights taking care of mere private matters, showering afterwards so that Cas would not smell the sex, the attraction, on his skin. He had a suspicion that the angel knew anyway, but how, he had no clue.

Weeks passed with Dean barely noticing. It turned out to be god damned easy to live with Castiel. Mostly, anyway. On the fifth week, Cas had barged into his room without knocking. Dean had been goddamned _naked_ and while he knew Cas had seen him in more vulnerable states, he had no desire for the angel to see his bare ass too.  

At first, Dean had almost yelled at him, but seeing how flushed and confused the angel was, he could not bring himself to do so. Instead, he draped the blanket from the bed around him, covering his naughty bits.

“Sit.”

Cas obeyed quietly like he could sense Dean being unhappy with his actions.

“I know this is your house and that I am a guest here.” Cas’ face changed as if he was about to protest. “No, Cas, I am, stop looking like that!” Dean sighed before continuing. “But could we please agree that you do not walk into my room without knocking? I would like to not worry about being modest all the time.”

Cas frowned at that, head tilting as if he had a hard time understanding that. It took him a few moments before he nodded. But then again, being an angel and all, Dean doubted he cared very much for modesty. Well, at least he was wearing clothing on a regular basis, for all Dean knew Cas could prefer walking around naked whenever he had the chance to do so.

“Okay, Dean. I will knock,” he agreed, though he sounded like he did not understand fully.

“Thank you.”

Cas continued to sit on the edge of his bed, spine slightly stiff and posture slightly off as if he had important matters on mind.

“Why did you come in the first place?” Dean found himself asking.

“Oh…” Cas stared at him, blue eyes just a little too wide, and hesitated like he was considering something. “I just… I wanted to tell you that dinner was ready.”

“Uh. Thanks?” Dean replied, feeling certain that it had not been what the angel had wandered in to tell him. But he chose not to press the matter. Cas had agreed to respect his privacy, he would most likely tell Dean whenever he felt ready.

It turned out to be hard not leaning into Cas’ space, to not touch him. Dean had no desire to defile an angel of the lord, to lead him astray or whatever. Maybe Cas had fallen, but there was a difference between falling from heaven and committing sin on earth. At least that was what he kept telling himself. Excuse after excuse held him back, even though he found himself in close proximity of the angel more often than not.

In turn for the reading and math, Dean taught Cas different games and cooking.

“Why do you never eat?” Dean dug into the beef with pleasure.

“I don’t need it,” Cas answered, head tilted slightly. It should not have been endearing, but it was. The angel had his wings relaxed down behind his back, and he looked so very human in that moment that Dean almost leaned over the table to kiss him.

“But you could still enjoy it.” He pointed at Cas with a piece of forked beef.

The angel frowned, seemingly considering that.

“You feel like trying some?” Dean suggested, sending Cas a wide smile as the angel nodded. He let him have the piece he had already cut and stabbed with the fork.

Cas chewed slowly, obviously confused by the consistency or taste of the beef.

Eagerly, Dean asked, “What do you think?” as soon as Cas’ Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“It tastes like molecules,” the angel told him with a great deal of seriousness.

“Molecules?” Dean repeated, frowning. In all their reading and learning, he had not before encountered the word molecules.

“Yes,” Cas confirmed, all serious still. Dean had started to consider if the angel was making fun of him somehow, but he seemed to genuinely believe that the beef tasted like molecules.

“What are molecules?”

Cas hesitated for a moment, blue eyes piercing the air above Dean’s head as he thought about it. “Molecules… it is hard to explain, given that your kind won’t know about them for centuries to come… They are the tiny, tiny pieces making up everything, including that beef. And because I am an angel, I taste the molecules that makes up that beef, or the water or whatever I should choose to consume, rather than tasting what you are.”

“Oh,” Dean found himself replying, very intelligently. He had no idea what Cas had just said, but either way, tasting molecules sounded less pleasant. Just to prove some sort of a point to himself, he cut off another piece of beef, chewing it while trying to taste the molecules. He could for the life of him not understand what Cas was talking about.  

While Cas did not seem to enjoy food himself, he sure seemed to like feeding Dean. He never failed to have a small smile playing around his lips whenever Dean ate.

“You are going to get me fat, Cas,” Dean had warned him.

“No. But I am going to get you healthy.” That had sounded like a promise.

When Dean looked down at himself, he noticed that his ribs and hipbones were no longer dangerously protruding. He was still skinny, sure, but not dangerously so. When he caught glimpses of his reflection, it became clear that his time with Cas had done him much good. His skin was not thin and brittle looking over the bones in his face, his eyes no longer sunken in. One thing was how he looked. Dean _felt_ a lot better too.

Cas seemed to encourage honesty and Dean voicing his opinion. Things that would have resulted in beatings or punishments like that found the way out of his mouth more often, and instead of dragging him to the dungeons, Cas rewarded him with wholehearted laughs or bright smiles. Sometimes, his blue eyes would catch Dean’s green, making something twist in him. Pride, maybe, of making the angel laugh like that.

Somehow, it seemed that Dean’s stay there benefitted Cas as well. Not that his outer appearance changed, but something did. He relaxed more in Dean's company, shirts sifted for looser tunics like he allowed himself to unwind a little.

It was hard, hiding his attraction to the angel. Being only the two of them, he found himself caring less and less about the stigma for a man being attracted to another man. In some places it was seen as something unholy, dangerous. A threat to society. Witchcraft, even. That something had gone wrong at birth. It was not that he found the idea of being with a woman unappealing under different circumstances than the ones he had been in previously. It was just… It was Cas.

He had no idea how the angel felt about it. If he even knew.

Dean tried testing the waters slow and gentle, never pressuring Cas into anything. He leaned into the angel’s space more. Touched more, his hands on Cas whenever he felt that it could be justified. It even happened that he fell asleep, leaning into the solid, warm body beside him, when Cas read out loud what was too advanced for Dean to read on his own.

If Cas minded, he never said so. Rather he responded to the touches with more touches, to the closer proximity by moving himself completely into Dean’s space.


	3. Chapter 3

At first the sexual tension had barely been there. Castiel hadn't really noticed it. What may had been he wrote off to him not being used to share his castle with anybody. It had not mattered. Just because he was fascinated the human did not make the human share his feelings. But it grew. It grew to a point where Cas felt the need to wear longer tunics to hide how hard he was whenever he found Dean nearby. Which he did a lot. Dean had grown fond of his company, apparently.

Castiel noticed a change in the human as he gained weight and strength. He got cheekier. Backtalked. Acted like the free man he were meant to be. And Castiel could not do anything but to love the changes, no matter how annoying. The big, green eyes shone with life, he had a healthy color to his face and he looked good overall. More than good.

Dean touched him more, too. Casual brushes of hands, arms almost bumping when they passed one another. Dean leaning into his personal space, so close that Castiel was able to see the distinct colors specking the green in his irises.

He would have considered Dean downright beautiful if not for how frustrated he was.

 

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Before Dean, he had never felt the bodily desires so strong. Very few before him had caught his attention, none as strong as the former slave did. It was an almost painful pull towards the human, his body begging him, screaming at him, to do something about the want. His genitalia had never been his focus of attention, and suddenly he found himself with his hands wrapped around himself, spilling in his pants at the thought of being with Dean.

Dean seemed troubled as well. Castiel could have sworn that he sometimes got a whiff of sexual desires from the human as well, but it was always too brief to be sure. Heightened angel-senses weren’t much worth against a human as guarded as Dean.

His fantasies about the human grew as time passed. Sometimes he almost felt obsessed. Castiel spent hours fantasizing about the pink lips wrapped around his fingers, his genitalia, the warmth of a breath against his neck before lips and tongue would move further down, to where it really mattered. He fantasized about all the ways he could take Dean, how the human would moan his name brokenly as he came from Castiel buried deep in him, untouched.

When Dean was nearby it was hard not to act on those fantasies. Castiel wanted nothing more than to push Dean against the nearest surface and fuck him into oblivion. He could have sworn that Dean seemed interested at times.

Dean was eating, licking the sweet remnants of fruit from his fingers, eyes on Castiel like he did it deliberately. His pupils were blown, lips shining as he continued to pick up a piece of fruit, chewing it, then licking the juice of his fingers, swirling his tongue slowly around the tips. Castiel’s pants were too tight, too straining around his groin. He wanted out of them, preferably to replace the annoying fabric with Dean's lips. Fingers cleaned off, Dean licked around his lips, eyes still locked on Castiel like it was something other than fruit he was hungry for. Castiel breathed in heavy through his mouth, not sure he would be able to keep control if he smelled something reminding of arousal from the human, who picked up another piece and continued.

“You don’t want any strawberries, Cas?”

“No,” he said, aware that his voice had dipped even deeper than it usually did. Dean's eyes flickered from his eyes downwards to his lips where they lingered for the shortest amount of time before he caught Castiel’s gaze again.

“Your loss. They are very delicious,” Dean informed him, biting off the top to suck on the strawberry instead. Castiel could hear the soft sucking noises, the almost-not-there moan of pleasure from enjoying the fruit. He forgot to breathe in through his mouth.

He lost it.

Rising to his feet, he had meant to hurry away. He had killed others for doing what he wanted to do to Dean at that moment. He found himself not caring. Who would punish him? He was Castiel. He was the one punishing.

In two steps, he was around the table, fewer than that and he had Dean pushed against the wall, mouth at his neck where he could almost taste the arousal coming from the human. Oh. He had not just imagined things. He could taste it on his skin, feel its hardness pressed against his thigh. Dean tried to say something. Castiel shut him up with a series of frantic and desperate kisses that had the human bucking his hips against him.

Buttons fell to the floor as he ripped Dean’s shirt off him, exposing soft skin marked by scars. Castiel wanted to know the story behind each one, but it was not the time. He got the shirt off Dean entirely and hurried to get the pants of him too.

Dean was panting against his neck, his dick hard and warm in Castiel’s hand as he gently traced his finger across the soft skin.

“Stay,” he ordered, retrieving the oil usually used for cooking. He didn’t care. Dean did not move, eyes wide as they followed Castiel’s movements.

“Good,” he whispered, rewarding Dean by slowly jerking him off. His grip was not hard enough to really give Dean the friction he desperately wanted, but more than enough to make him want more.

Hand around Dean's neck, he pushed him down against the nearby table. The human moaned unashamed as Castiel pushed his oil-covered fingers against his exposed hole, only moving ever so slightly as he pushed in the first digit.

He did not use much time prepping Dean, one finger quickly became two as he worked the muscle, got the human ready for him. When he pushed in three, Dean groaning as response as Castiel moved his fingers to find that sweet spot. He was desperate to feel the warm heat of Dean around his throbbing member instead of fingers, but he did not want it to hurt too much.

“Have you any idea how crazy you have driven me, eating strawberries like that? I have wanted to replace those berries with my penis all night,” Castiel told him, driving his fingers in and out of Dean’s slick hole without mercy, listening to the broken moans of the human as he did.

Impatiently, he withdrew his fingers, covering his leaking erection with oil as well. It felt good, finally touching himself, having been hard for too long without release.

He gently notched the tip inside Dean, letting him adjust to the size and feeling for a moment before pushing in, inch by inch, enjoying the tight heat of him. Broken sounds escaped the human as his hips met Dean's ass. He had meant to take it slow, get Dean used to the feeling of it, but feeling his walls clench around him made that entirely impossible. Castiel found himself panting for air, watching Dean stretched around his cock, arms braised against the table he was bending over. It could not be comfortable, but he was not complaining.

“So good,” Castiel moaned, pushing inside Dean with greater speed, more force, chasing his orgasm desperately. He was closer than he would like to admit, purely from watching Dean eat of all things.

His thrusts grew more and more frantic as he neared the edge, hands on the hips of the human. The smell of Dean’s arousal grew thicker. Castiel panted for breath, the now familiar feeling of right on the edge building in his lower gut just before he spilled inside Dean, groaning through it. Still inside, he got Dean enough of the table to jerk him off, feeling how he clenched around Castiel as he came.  

Dean looked utterly flushed and confused as he got up. The angel could not help but admire the marks he had left at Dean's hips, keeping him down on the table. They would bruise nicely.

For a fraction of time, he felt pride of marking up the human. Everyone should know whom Dean belonged to. Then it hit him. Dean did not belong to him. He had no rights to do what he had just done. He had killed humans and angels for lesser things than that. Dean was not his to hold, not his to kiss, not his to take. No matter how badly he wanted him. He had thought their previous captures immoral and disgusting for forcing Dean to have sex with women, but how was he better? Dean hadn’t been given a choice either way.

Without a word, he yanked up his pants, turned on the heel and bolted from the room as fast as he could. There were people to kill. Thing to do. Places to be. He closed them while walking fast towards his room where he grabbed the sheet for his sword. It was a heavy thing with longer reach than most human swords. It had been made for him at the dawn of times and he could not imagine fighting with anything else than that. He felt calmer, having it strapped to his hip where it allowed his wings to move freely. Once he had tried carrying swords between his wings, but it had turned out terrible.

Without as much as letting Dean know that he took off, he jumped out the window, stretching his wings before he hit the ground and took off. He enjoyed the stretch in the joints, the free feeling of wind through the feathers as he chased through the night. He could have chosen to teleport, his grace restored, but even though it would barely take a toll on him to do it that way, he preferred flying when possible.

They had hurt Dean, and for that they should pay. He chose not to think about what he had done, how it was possibly worse. There had been a fragile trust between them and he had broken it. He would fight tooth and nail to get back alive for the sole reason of letting Dean know his deeds. That he could walk away and not fear his former owners. Castiel would help him. Make sure would be able to make a living. Dean would not be abandoned, that would most likely lead to a destiny worse than the one he had almost suffered.

 

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Sighing, he realized that he was getting close to his destination. Mind filled with heavy thoughts, he had barely noticed how the landscape changed around him.

It was not a surprise when the first guard cried out in horror. Castiel’s face moved into a grim smile, danger in his cold, blue eyes. More humans joined the screams as they noticed him, knowing very well that no god was watching over them.

They were about to die.

He dived towards the walls, wings close to his body. He spread them out to soften the impact, the first guard already choking on the blood running into his windpipe before Castiel’s feet hit the wall. Fear spread among them as he turned towards the next. He could smell it in the air, hear it in their warning screams. How had the human thought itself better than any other species? Faced with death, they were all the same. Scared animals.

Moving forward, they fell for his sword like he was harvesting grain with a scythe. It was easy to kill them, he figured as the next one fell. His face had been young, his features too soft for him to work the wall. He had smelled like urine in the moment before the tip of the angel’s sword perpetrated his ribcage, piercing the heart. Maybe it should make him feel something, killing kids.

It did not.

Slaughtering the guards almost went too easy. He barely needed to put a strain on himself. Castiel found himself disappointed in the lack of actual security. They had grown too confident, even though they had only managed to capture him with the help of two powerful mages who had been visiting. It had been sheer luck. Luck had been their choice a second time. Stupid humans. He could not sense any magic or sigils warding against angels as he scanned the area. How had they not taken any precautions from his last visit, he had no idea. Stupid, arrogant humans.

The cries from the dying and hurt had attracted the mansion-guards. Some he recognized from the last time. Oh, how he would enjoy cutting into their skin, leaving them to die. Neither of those men deserved the easy way out. They deserved to hurt, dying from drowning in their own blood or the acid from their stomach eating its way through their organs. Agonizing screams sounded like the sweetest of music in his ear as he left them for death.

 

Castiel wasted little time finding the nobleman of the establishment. He was hiding away, like the coward he was, letting his men die for him without risking a single drop of blood himself. Nothing but contempt filled the angel as he watched him.

“You are to die, Cain,” he informed the human, drinking in the terror, the pungent stench of fear. Roles had been reversed, from when Castiel had been their prisoner, his grace burning so low that he had barely been able to heal himself.

“Why?”

Castiel had expected him to ask for mercy. Frowning, he stared at the man who was trying to make himself seem smaller. Was he dragging out the time before the inevitable?

“You have used your fellow humans for simple coin. You are immoral and a disgrace to your kind,” the angel stated simply, voice gravel.

“Why does that make me worse than everyone else? You cannot kill all who trade slaves, you cannot stop the market.” Cain drew in breath, slowly getting up from where he had been hunched together, caught up in his own righteousness.

“They are not yours to keep,” Castiel answered simply. “They never were. Never will be. And yes, I can kill all who do if I so desire. I have time on my side, human.”

“You are no better than me! Those men you slaughtered in cold blood had families, had done nothing wrong,” Cain continued like his talk about morals somehow would make the angel change his mind. It did not, but Castiel had no rush in killing him. Part of him found it amusing.

“They chose not to go against you. Instead of standing against the wrong, they closed their eyes, let the coins in their pockets calm them at night. It could just as well have been them or someone they loved. Yet they never questioned you, never lifted a hand to do a difference. That makes them just as bad as you,” Castiel explained. It was that simple, really.

“Dying is too simple a punishment for you,” he decided, eyes on Cain. The human’s mouth moved as if he wanted to say something, wanted a chance to protest, to do things right.

The smile grew on Castiel’s face, into something wide, dark and dangerous. There were too many teeth, it was too much the smile of a predator. Nothing calming or reassuring about it. Yanking his arm forward as he moved, his fingers gripped around Cain’s trachea, squeezing just hard enough to prove a point.

“You deserve to suffer,” he added, continuing to squeeze until Cain stopped trying to break his grip, the eyes rolling back into his head. Castiel could still feel his pulse, hear the heartbeat as he let the human fall to the ground. Grabbing him by the collar, the angel effortlessly dragged the human down into the basement, further into the darkness where the smallest of light rarely found its way down. He had no issues with letting Cain rot up into one of the cells in the darkness. It was simply what the man deserved.

Cutting him into bits and pieces, letting him bleed out was too fast. It was not torturous the way being left to die alone was. The human mind was not meant for darkness like that.

Castiel smiled as he left the deep dungeons, locking the door with sigils and magic to ensure that no one would be able to enter except him.

His work there was far from done. All staff died from his hand as well. He had no desire to spare those who had closed their eyes for what their master did. Had they all stood up, there could have been a different destiny for the poor women. He deliberately did not think of Dean while the blood of a maid ran down his sword. All had to pay for their sins one day. Those at the mansion simply just met theirs earlier than he did.

 

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When Castiel returned to the castle almost two days later, he was as close to exhausted as he could be. His vessel had been strained. His clothes were torn where cuts had found their way, and even though the wounds were long closed, he was still covered in dried blood, his own and others. Some of the slaves had asked him to end their misery, not able to find the meaning of trying the life as free men. He had complied, giving them a fast and merciful death. Most had seemed grateful and happy to start their new life as he had cut away their scars, healing the skin so that no brand was to tell that they once had been owned. Cain’s gold, his horses and his livestock had been divided among them, ensuring their freedom.

Dean had looked relieved at first, when he returned. Then mad. Before Castiel could do anything, the human had grabbed his wrist, dragged him into the kitchen and ordered him to sit. The angel had been too baffled to do anything but comply. Dean had then proceeded to heat water and slowly wash the dried blood off Castiel with a gentleness the angel did not feel he deserved.

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“Why did you leave?” the human asked, voice hoarse as he washed away the blood sticking to the Castiel’s back. Dean avoided the feathery wings carefully. Castiel was grateful for that. He was not sure he would have been able to handle that. It was too intimate and Dean would not even know what it meant for him. Just letting him wash of dried blood was… almost too much. Dean should repel from him like oil from water. He should not want anything to do with Castiel.

“I… I had things that needed to be done,” he answered truthfully. Dean had no use for more information than that, he figured.

“Urgent enough that you had to leave without a word?” Castiel tried to pinpoint the emotions in his voice. It was hard. So many entangled with one another, leaving the angel confused and baffled with it.

The hesitation was answer enough.

“Why did you leave?” Dean repeated, insisting.

“I forced you, Dean,” he sighed. Dean’s touch felt like caresses to his skin.

Dean swallowed. “You did not.” His voice was hesitant. Like he wanted to say something entirely different, but had settled for a truth he did not want to acknowledge. As if he wanted to tell Castiel he had indeed raped him. That it had not been wanted. But his washing off blood, the almost caressing of skin where Castiel had not been touched in centuries, told a different story. Dean was struggling with himself, but it was not because he had felt forced. Or maybe Castiel was reading too much into the human’s tone, the way he held his body. Maybe he had felt forced, but given that his entire base of living was currently with Castiel, he did not feel that he could acknowledge what had happened truthfully.

“I did,” Castiel retorted, voice stubborn.

“Did it occur to you that I never pushed you away, never asked you to stop?”

“It would not have done a difference. I would not have listened, and you would not have been able to do anything. Against someone like me that would have been a useless fight.” Cas moved his wings so they covered his back, hindering Dean in continuing washing blood off his skin. “If I had so desired, I could have manipulated your mind, made you think that you wanted it.”

“But you did not,” Dean answered, voice almost too soft.

“No,” Castiel agreed. “But I still forced you. You knew that you would never have a chance to push me off. That I could smite you. I brought you here so you could be safe, not so that I could touch you without permission, Dean. That makes me no better than those who kept you in the darkness.”

The angel closed his eyes for a moment. He could hear the wet sound of the cloth against the floor as Dean threw it. Maybe he had finally gotten the human to understand that even though _he_ believed there to be a choice, there had never been. Castiel had used him, something not easily forgiven. No matter how much Castiel provided for him, he would never be able to make up for that.

“I promise that I shall never touch you again,” Castiel added, opening his eyes. He had heard Dean move. They were eye to eye.

“What if that is not what I want?”

“You don’t know what you want. I freed you Dean. That makes… You may feel that you owe me something. You do not. If you wish to leave, you are free to do so. I can help you. Get you settled somewhere.”

“I don’t want that, Cas.” He moved closer, their faces inches from one another. Castiel could feel the heat from each exhale, the individual hairs making up Dean's lashes. Maybe it would have been easier if Dean had turned out hideous away from the darkness. It had never been about the looks. He had been smitten long before he got them out of there. Long before he had seen Dean’s features.

“What do you want, human?”

Dean hesitated, bit his lip, looked away. Was it shame in his posture?

“You,” he admitted, green eyes still fixed on a crack in the floor.

“You don’t know that.” Castiel could easily hear the anger in his own voice, the self-hatred hidden beneath it, too ugly, too shameful to see the light of day.

“Yes,” Dean said, eyes locking on Castiel who struggled to meet his intense gaze. “I do.”

“I am the first human-like creature to show you compassion for years, Dean. You are caring about me for the wrong reasons. I am abomination. I was _thrown out of heaven_.”

“You are not a bad person, Cas,” Dean protested, hesitantly reaching out to touch. He stopped himself as another mix of emotions shifted through his eyes, still too fast for the angel to follow or understand. Why had he gotten himself such a complicated human? Why not one with emotions less guarded?  

“I was thrown out of heaven,” he repeated, voice flat.

“For what?” Apparently, the human just flat out refused to let the topic fall.

“Killing my brothers and sisters.” There were no emotions whatsoever in that statement. But if anything would make Dean see what kind of creature he was, it was killing his own kin. Castiel knew how deeply he had cared about Sammy even though their relation had not been by blood.

Dean withdrew with that, and Castiel took in a deep, steadying breath. Even though his vessel had no use for oxygen, he still found it calming to do so.

“Why?” Dean’s voice was shaking. Something in his tone was disbelieving, like he wanted Cas to tell him something that would justify his actions. Something Dean could understand. Cas would never justify his actions, but he felt that the human deserved the reason behind. Judge for himself.

“They deserved it.”

“You cannot just… Cas, you cannot kill your siblings for thinking they deserve it!” Dean sounded upset. It was easy to guess that he thought about Sammy, exactly like Castiel had wanted him to.

“You do not understand, Dean,” he found himself saying, as if he wanted the human to grasp something he had no chance to get. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, it occurred to him that he was doing a poor job at making Dean hate him. Maybe that had never really been his intention, he reasoned. Where would Dean go, if he refused to live in the castle? He was still branded like a slave, Cas had not yet offered him to remove the mark.

“Make me understand, then!” There was something begging in Dean’s voice. Like he wanted to know why Castiel had chosen to smite his kin. The angel could not get behind that. Why did Dean so desperately want him to be good? Why did he want Dean to think that he was?

For a moment, he considered lying or just not explaining himself. But it was Dean, heart worn on his sleeve and soul too bright. He deserved the truth.

“They raped and killed among the humankind. Nephilims were born because of that, their mothers always dying during pregnancy or, in rare cases, during delivery. The human body is not made for sustaining the gestation of an angel. The fetus needs grace and in hunger, it feeds on the human soul,” he explained. “They had no intentions of stopping, no care for the lives they took.”

Dean deflated, looking vulnerable. “How should that make me see you as the bad guy, Cas?”

“I have killed humans too, Dean. I have slaughtered so much that you could fill lakes with the amount of blood spilled.” He stopped for a moment, letting the human take that in. When Dean did not react, he took it as a cue to continue:

“I killed Cain’s maids, too, Dean,” Castiel admitted. “The staff in the kitchen. The boys in the stables. I could have done so with my grace, put them to sleep mercifully. I did not. I chose to let them suffer, to let them know that I was coming.”

Dean paled in front of him. He looked as he were to be sick.

“I am a monster,” Castiel stated, like it could be said that simple. Dean seemed to agree.

“You made them pay?” His voice had once again dropped to the hoarse state. He was too upset with emotions, Castiel figured, having his hope for the angel being good ripped into pieces again.

“Yes.”

“And Cain?” Dean continued to ask.

“In the darkness, locked away. He is not getting out unless I break the sigils. Death would have been too easy for someone like him.” Castiel could not help the pride in his voice or the predatory smile on his face. Few things had felt better than to lock up that man.

To his surprise, Dean smiled right back at him, color returning to his cheeks, like he was thanking Castiel for spilling blood and wasting lives. No matter how righteous his wrath had been towards those humans, not all had deserved to die for their sins.

Dean moved, gathered the cloth back up and rinsed it in the lukewarm water before washing the blood of Castiel’s face. He had been aware of the metallic taste hitting his tongue, but not of how covered he had been. It took Dean a good while before he seemed happy with the result.

“Your hair is still covered in blood,” he said, voice soft as Castiel looked down upon him.

“Yes,” the angel agreed.

“Lean back. And get your wings out of the way.”

Castiel did so, letting Dean slowly pour water into his hair. The water running down slowly grew more and more transparent until his hair just felt wet, rather than stiff with dried body liquids. He was not very used to that sensation, rarely showering. As he did not sweat, he had less use for bathing than humans. Then there was the matter of where to put his wings when he did. Mostly he liked to dive into a lake, getting both wings and body and hair washed through like that. But he rarely did so, mostly if he had been in a battle and felt the need to clean himself. Wash his hands, so to speak.

 

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“Thank you.” Castiel said, meaning it.

“What for?”

The angel hesitated for only a moment, drying his hair off with the towel Dean extended to him. “For keeping me sane down in the darkness. Reminding me of humanity, why I started what I did in the first place. For not seeing me as a monster,” he answered. _For not assuming the worst when he had arrived home, covered in blood. For not blaming me for what had happened between us before that._ _Thank you for not hating me._

Dean answered by moving around Castiel so that they were eye to eye once again so close, that he could feel the soft puffs of air when the human exhaled.

He looked as if he wanted to tell Castiel that he could never see him as a monster, but instead of talking he gently cupped the angel’s head, thumbs caressing his cheeks. It was so foreign, so filled with affection. Castiel had no idea what to make of it or his body’s reactions towards the human. He wanted to drag him closer, place him across his lap, kiss him, make love to him. Make sure that no one would ever be able to harm him. He wanted to shove him away, tell Dean who he was. But it had been enough talk for that night. There had been enough hurt, enough worry.

Maybe it should not have surprised him when Dean leaned in, softly pressing his lips against Castiel’s. It was not their first kiss, but to Cas, it sure felt as it was.

Cas had not been sure if Dean had wanted the one where he had tasted sweet like strawberries. Somehow he had been able to taste the sweetness, not just the damned molecules. For a moment, he had seen what Dean found so intoxicating about those fruits. But not protesting did not mean that he had desired Cas.

“Get out of your head and kiss me,” Dean demanded, voice low, as he leaned into Castiel’s space once more, kissing him deeper.

Cas happily returned the kisses, but kept it there. Soft and innocent. No matter how much Dean insisted that Castiel had not forced him, he still felt that way. Felt as if he had to earn Dean's forgiveness.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel gave it a few days of loving gestures, of kisses. He especially enjoyed reading out loud for Dean, the human placing his head in his lap, relaxing altogether. More often than not he carried Dean to bed afterwards, his voice lulling the human into a sweet, relaxed sleep. He had always been aware that Dean suffered from nightmares, but now he allowed Castiel to hold him and calm him whenever he woke up, drenched in sweat. The scents that before had been weak suggestions, too subtle for anything conclusive, bloomed. There was no doubt in his mind that Dean found him attractive. That the human wanted him just as badly as he wanted Dean.

But he held back. Withdrew before it became more than heated kisses, leaving Dean looking confused and disappointed.

There were things to tell before they could go all the way. Things he maybe should have told long before, giving Dean an actual choice in whether he wanted to stay. But Castiel had been selfish. He had not wanted to see the look of disgust, of anger or fear on Dean's face. Not when it was towards him. It had been bad enough when he had left to kill Cain, the few moments where Dean had thought him a killer without reason. He never wanted to see those green eyes look at him like that again.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean asked, looking impatiently at him. Castiel had asked him to come and talk with him in the library, but had so far not really said anything.

“Are you going to throw me out?” Oh. Maybe the impatience covered over the worry.

“No. But you may wish to leave once I have told you this,” he stated.

Dean did not reply to those words, instead his gaze intensified. Cas wondered briefly what Dean saw or thought he was about to confess.

He swallowed, took a steadying breath. “I need to tell you the truth, Dean. About me.”

It took him a few moments, hands slowly moving against one another. Nervous, he figured. He had never been nervous before. Always felt that his course was justified, that he knew what he was doing. Only relying on himself. It had been easy that way.

“My name is not Cas.” He started, watching Dean close for any signs of emotions. “I chose not to tell you my full name in fear of what you would do. Having you down in the darkness kept me somewhat sane. Reminded me of what I used to fight for. I couldn’t bear the thought of you looking at me with the same fear or disgust that most do, once they learn my name.

Your kind knows me, Dean. There are written stories of my sins, of my deeds. As I told you, blood have been spilled in such quantities that rivers could have been flowing with it, thanks to me. And all that is said about me is true.”

He caught the gaze of the human, holding the green eyes locked with a steady gaze. He wanted Dean to know. Wanted him to be informed in all ways possible.

“I am Castiel.”

He kept staring, kept looking at Dean for information. At first, his human looked baffled, confused. Then he started laughing hard. He laughed and kept laughing, tears rolling down his face from the joy of it. Of all reactions, Cas had not expected exactly that one.

It took several moments for Dean to be calm enough to actually talk to Castiel.

“Oh, yeah. I’m a lord. God, you almost had me there. Don’t ever let me tell you that you do not have a sense of humor.” The laugh still echoed in his voice, his smile was still bright enough that it made the skin besides his eyes crinkle. Under different circumstances, Cas would have loved to see him that happy.

“You do not believe me,” he stated, wondering how he would make the human do so. It was not of much use that Dean knew the truth if he did not believe it. That did not make for an informed choice.

“No,” Dean agreed, still smiling.

The dark-haired angel swallowed, wondering what to do with that. It had never occurred to him that maybe Dean would not believe him. That the actions at home were so different from the ones out there. Quietly, he wondered if he even should. Did it really matter that much that Dean was to make a fully informed choice? He knew about the killings of his brethren, he knew of the slaughter at Cain’s. More than enough information to what kind of angel Castiel truly where had been given towards the human, enough that Dean should be able to make the choice for himself.

It took several moments of quiet thinking before the green-eyed human breathed in differently, making it sound as if he were almost choking on air.

“You are serious.”

“Yes, Dean.”

“But…” he protested, staring at Castiel as if he now were to tell that the entire thing had been a joke.

“You can’t be,” he added, green eyes wide, sad, hurt. Cas had no idea how to interpret the different emotions running across Dean’s face.

“You can’t be Castiel,” he repeated, lower this time, as if he thought the facts would go away if he denied them hard enough. They didn’t. His human looked upset, pale, scared, maybe. But he did not repel from Castiel, which, well, was more than he had dared hope for.

“I am.”

“No. You can’t. Castiel is ruthless. He kills without mercy, not caring for who he has to slaughter to get to his prey. There is no begging for the easy way out. He will make you suffer.” Seeing the pieces of the puzzle fitting into the slots, Dean paled even more, his skin almost getting a greyish undertone. He looked as if he was going to be sick.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, letting Dean see exactly how well that information fitted with what he had told him about attacking Cain. How he had been there to kill long before he had even been captured, met Dean.

“He fell from the skies, cast out for the gruesome crime of killing his kin. His wings were _burned_.” Dean's voice cracked at the last part.

“I did. They did.” Slowly, he spread the wings, letting Dean take in their raven black color. “Angel wings are usually white or of a golden hue, Dean. How do you think I ended up with black wings? Anyone seeing me should, would, know what I had done. That I was an outcast, an abomination.”

He breathed out heavy: “Black wings are a warning. Yet I am carrying mine with pride. Tell me, human, what does that make me?”

Dean had no answer for that. He just stared at Castiel. How had he not noticed the tears threatening to spill over in the eyes of his human? How he looked more upset than angry, scared or disgusted.

He grew quiet, watching Dean stumble around with the new information. Maybe it should have been given before, he did not know.

The quiet was only broken by their irregular breathing. Castiel wanted to reach out, to cradle Dean, ensure him that everything would be alright. That nothing had changed, really. But it was so obvious that everything had.

“I am sorry I did not tell you this sooner, Dean.”

Dean did not respond. He kept staring at someplace around Castiel’s knee, eyes locked but distant at the same time, caught in his own head. Cas could see how the small muscles in his face twitched, how he just barely kept it together.

“You are still Cas to me.” Dean’s voice was barely more than a whisper. Had it not been for Castiel’s superior hearing, he would not have picked up on it. Something shifted in the human as if he had reached a decision. His back straightened just a fraction, his eyes steel and _there_ rather than staring out into nothing. Dean must have picked up on the protest on Castiel’s lips.

“No, listen. You may be Castiel too, I don’t care. You saved me. You got me out of that hole. I don’t…” He sighed, rubbing his forehead between forefinger and thumb. The words seemed difficult to gather. “Castiel would not cook, would he? Not take the time to teach a stupid human how to read. He would not respect my rules about knocking before entering. Castiel is someone to scare unruly kids with. To me, you are Cas.”

Castiel was suddenly the one left without words. He just stared in Dean with utter disbelief. The human kept surprising him, kept doing what Castiel had never even suspected. He had seen humanity evolve, seen everything, yet there was so much he did not understand.

“You kept me sane. You reminded me of my mission, Dean. I owed you that.”

“No, you paid of your depth by getting me out of there. We both know that,” Dean answered. There was a hint of a snarl in his voice. Anger hidden somewhere.

“I owed you,” Cas repeated.

“Maybe you owed me a meal, maybe you felt that you owed me to get me back on my feet, even though you weren’t the reason for my imprisonment. But you sure as hell did not owe to teach me how to read, to do math. You are a good person, Cas.”

“You are biased,” Castiel told him.

Dean bared his teeth, but not in a smile. “Then you should have made it more difficult to care about you.”

“You care?” Cas’ eyes widened. Things had not went as planned. He had been so sure that Dean would want to leave the castle.

“I do,” Dean confirmed. “I just don’t understand why you haven’t told me this before.”

“I didn’t want you to look at me as if I were a monster.”

“Still you chose to tell me.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “I felt as if you should know the truth if I were to allow our relationship to progress.”

Dean snorted. “You were to allow?” he repeated, a funny look on his face.

“I felt that it would be a betrayal of your trust to not tell you this.”

Something softened on Dean’s face. “Tell me, Castiel.” He said the name carefully, as if to try it out. Like the world could shatter if he did not say it carefully enough. “What could I do other than accept this? I am not a free man, everyone would know. It would be impossible to hide forever, and once the words were out…” He shrugged, both of them knowing exactly what would happen. No one would trade with him, as he weren’t a free man. No one would see him as more than a slave.

“I can remove your mark,” Castiel offered. Maybe he should have done so the very first night Dean had been there. By all means it should have been offered sooner. But it was the night of truths and he wanted Dean to have all options before deciding what he wished to do, even if it meant leaving.

Dean sucked in a breath, wide, green eyes staring disbelieving at Castiel.

“You can?”

“Yes. It will be painful, however. I must cut away the branded skin, then heal it. And I can do nothing to remove the pain while cutting.”

“Do it.”

His chest tightened at that. Dean would surely leave if he were a free man. Castiel had withheld the information intentionally, for selfish reasons, and Dean had to know that somehow. No one would want to stay in a secluded castle with an assassin like himself. No one in their right mind. He would be alone again. Dean would want to leave. He drew a heavy breath.

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“If that is what you wish, Dean,” he agreed, voice flat.

 

The human was already shedding his outer layer of clothes, getting ready for the procedure. Castiel could not blame him for his hurry, not even though a part of him wished to do so, ached to ask Dean if his stay had really been so horrible that he was practically running out. It saddened him, seeing Dean thrum with the energy, the desire to be free. To leave Castiel.

He could have chosen to go to the kitchen, to get a knife there, to draw out the precious few moments he had left with Dean. He did not, knowing very well that he had lost that right.

“Ready?”

“Just get it over with already.”

And with that, Castiel cut into the flesh of Dean’s upper arm, the metallic scent of blood filling up the room as the small blade moved smoothly through the outer layer of skin, cutting through nerves, capillaries. It took few seconds for him to do. Dean stood completely still, his posture tense. Not much pain seeped through in his scent, but Cas supposed that such a small cut was a far cry from the worst Dean had ever been put through. Placing fingers on Dean's skin, he healed the damage, leaving the skin fresh and without a scar.

“Done,” Castiel informed him as if Dean hadn’t already felt the skin knit together. Dean turned his head while lifting the arm so that he could inspect the unscarred skin. Unshed tears of gratitude filled the green eyes as his gaze shifted from Cas’ eyes to the arm and back again.

“Thanks.” Dean’s voice was unsteady as his gaze kept flicking.

“I am sorry I did not tell you about this earlier,” Castiel said, moving uncomfortably, giving Dean space to get dressed again. The sight of his bare chest was highly distracting.

Instead of answering, Dean moved into his space, drawing him close and kissing him hard.

Maybe he wasn’t about to leave, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Gratefulness had filled his body as soon as he had felt the skin knit together underneath the soft pressure of Castiel’s fingertips. It had been the weirdest feeling. His angel had looked so sad when done, so surprised after the kiss.

“I thought you would leave, once I had removed your mark,” Cas had confessed with a shaking voice.

“Would not,” Dean assured him, dragging him in for another filthy and heated kiss.  

It took Cas a few days to seemingly realize that Dean had no plans about leaving. Happiness filled the blue eyes each time he caught Dean wandering around in the castle, when he asked to read together or cook.

Five days passed from the removal of branding before Castiel appeared in his doorway, looking awkwardly around like he was about to ask something he was unsure about.

“Dean…” Cas stood in the doorway, looking hesitant. His wings hung low, shoulders slumping as if he were already expecting Dean to say no to whatever he was about to ask. “I was wondering… If you would care to assist me in cleaning my wings? No matter how hard I try, there are places I cannot reach myself… And to be fair, they are filthy.” His face screwed with disgust.

“Sure, sure, I can do that,” he agreed, not sure why Cas looked so disgusted. As far as Dean was concerned, his wings looked good, shiny and healthy and downright beautiful. But he also had very little to compare with.

Castiel blushed as he kept staring at Dean with that intense gaze of his, head tilted slightly.

“I suppose I should tell you that cleaning of wings is usually something done by family… Or lovers. It is… very intimate. And I am not sure what my reaction will be to it. My wings are highly sensitive to touch.”

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat. Oh, so that was how Castiel saw him? Family would not describe what they were, but lovers?

“Haven’t changed my mind, angel. Come here.” He patted the bed beside him. “But you will have to explain to me what to do.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “Thank you.” Then he continued to explain how to care for the wings.

Slowly Dean carded his fingers through the long feathers, gripping tight at the loose once Cas had asked him to discard, leaving the healthy be. The angel hummed low in how throat, eyes closed. He looked content, peaceful.

“Is this right?”

“Yes.”

Dean continued, working his way from the outer part of the wing and toward the middle, noting how the feathers changed in length and structure. The longest feathers were easily the length of his lower arm, sleek to touch, whereas the shortest and finest weren’t much longer than half a finger, soft and rather fluffy compared to the longer ones.

Cas’ breath hitched. Dean quickly withdrew his hands, afraid that he had done something wrong.

“No, please continue. They are just… sensitive.” Cas’ voice sounded even more gravel than he was used to hear, and damned if that didn’t make things further down stir. He took a grounding breath before starting on the outer side of the other wing, waiting with the more sensitive middle part until later. He was not sure if the situation was sexual to Cas, but it could quickly become so for him.

Working through the long feathers helped, listening to Cas humming again rather than the irregular breathing that sounded suspiciously like he was turned on. But sooner than he had thought he was back to the sensitive middle part, and damned if they didn’t need the care. Looking at them that closely, he could see what Cas meant, broken feathers disrupting the shine, some dirty, some possibly still covered in the blood Dean had not rinsed of him.

“I think I need to wash some of them,” Dean gently told him, afraid he would somehow break the bubble they were in if he talked too loud.

“Yes,” Castiel simply agreed. He flicked his fingers and a bowl with hot water and several washcloths appeared.

“May I ask you something?” Dean soaked one of the cloths in the water, writhed out most of the water before he started washing the wings, starting from the outer feathers once again.

“Sure.”

“If you can make things appear with a simple flick of your fingers, how come you cannot clean your wings?”

“I can,” Cas told him. “But it would take too much of my grace for a task done easily by you. If you had not been willing to help me out, I would most likely have done it with grace in the end.” He shrugged, feathers rustling softly against his shoulders with the movement.

“You have talked about grace before, is it limited?”

“It became so after I was cut off from heaven. I recharge, so to speak, but it takes time that I do not always have. Like your wounds take time to heal, so does my grace.”

“Why did you use it on removing my mark, then?”

“Because you deserved your freedom, Dean. You were never meant to be a slave, not with a soul that bright.”

Not knowing the answer to that, Dean continued washing. He quickly found himself at the sensitive parts again, listening intensely to the way Cas sometimes forgot to breathe instead choking out sounds that did something to Dean, like wanting to climb the angel’s lap and kiss him like crazy.

Brushing the connective tissue between the wings and the skin made Castiel outright moan, low and filthy in his throat.

“Ca-as?” Dean asked, aware that his voice was shaking with want. Hearing his angel like that… What if it wasn’t like that for Castiel?

“I am so sorry, Dean. I realize that this is horribly inappropriate.” It sounded as if Cas were straining himself to sound normal. “It appears as if your touch is making me react in a sexual way. I had not anticipated this. I am so, so sorry.”

Instead of telling Cas not to be, Dean smoothed his fingers along the delicate skin, letting the angel know that he was entirely on board with it being sexual.

“Dean,” Cas choked out, voice deep. Dean continued to smooth over the feathers, altering between soft strokes and carding his fingers through them. The angel moaned brokenly whenever he tugged a little harder, fingers so deep in the feathers that he could feel the soft fluff hiding underneath the longer, waterproof feathers.

“I won’t be able to contain myself if you keep this up.” It was a warning, no doubt about that.

“I know,” Dean answered, pressing his lips to the skin covering Cas’ spine, drawing out another filthy sound as his fingers slid through the feathers with his movement. Cas was not  the only one losing his mind.

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want you to?” He breathed against the angel’s ear.

Faster than Dean had ever seen him move, Cas turned around, pinning him against the bed, eyes glowing as he stared at Dean, lips parted. He could see where Cas had bit them to keep back the sounds, how hard he had fought to keep Dean unaware of what was going on.

“You don’t know what you are asking for.”

“Show me.”

Soft lips found his. It was too desperate to be a kiss, too hungry, too demanding. Cas pushed his arms down again when he tried reaching for the raven wings, desperately wanting to touch them and draw out those noises again.

“Please, Cas.”

“No.” Hungry lips against his again, moving down over his jawline. Dean turned his head, allowing his angel full access to his vulnerable neck. He gasped for air when the lips were replaced by a gentle scrape of teeth. Castiel stared at him, blue eyes glowing with something not earthly, something reminding Dean of exactly what he was. Cas was smirking, looking satisfied with himself.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Castiel ordered as he started to unbutton Dean’s shirt.

Dean was just about to protest when Cas moved his eyes from the buttons to Dean, gaze intense enough that the words died on his tongue. He could keep his hands where Cas wanted them, at the least for the time being.

When the angel started to kiss and lick his way down Dean’s chest and stomach, he started to doubt that he would be able to do so for long. Cas seemed to know exactly what he was doing when he scraped his teeth against the skin over his hipbone. He was still wearing pants, why was he still wearing pants? Why was Cas?

“Dammit, Cas. Need you.” Dean could hear how strained and needy his voice sounded. He did not care.

“If we continue, I won’t be able to control myself, Dean.” His name was said so sharply that his eyes snapped to Cas. He looked worried, forehead scrunched so much that his brows were almost touching. The glow in his eyes was dimmed, but still visible.

“Why does that scare you?” Dean asked, realizing that it wasn’t worry making Cas stop. It was fear.

“You touched my wings,” he said, as if that explained everything. Dean figured that he looked confused, because Castiel continued:

“I want to mate you, Dean. Angels mate for life. For eternities, by human standards. My grace, the equivalent to your soul, has recognized you, wants you. Your soul is the brightest that I have seen among humankind in centuries, if ever. You touching my wings started that spark. I want to bed you, want to mark you as mine with my grace touching your soul.”

What was he to say? Was there an appropriate answer? Dean could not figure out one, and seeing Castiel crumble in front of him with the apparent confirmation of his fear, of Dean wanting to leave at some point, was more than he could bare. He grabbed the front of Cas’ shirt and hauled him in for another filthy kiss.

“Dammit, Cas, I belonged to you from the point where you rescued me from the darkness,” Dean growled, so close that their lips touched with his words. He could feel the surprised exhale before Cas kissed him with all he had, pent up worry turning into passion making Dean’s arteries thrum with heat and desire.

They kissed for a while, alternating between the gentle, almost sweet kisses to the hungry ones that made Dean buckle against Cas, seeking out a friction he was never granted. He was held close, but never as tight as he wanted. It occurred to him that the angel kept giving him the opportunity to change his mind, give him the option to scramble away if he needed to. The glow of his eyes had dimmed so much that they looked their usual blue, as if he tried to repress that part of himself.

“I want you,” Dean found himself whispering against the soft skin of Castiel’s neck. “I need you, Cas. Need to be yours.” He moved his head, just to see Cas’ reaction. Without asking for permission, he moved his hands up from the small of Cas’ back, gently stroking his way up until he could feel feathers between his fingers again. The over-earthly glow returned almost as soon as skin connected with the soft feathers.

Cas groaned softly, watching him with half-lidded eyes as if he were still unsure on Dean’s intentions. How he could be, Dean had no idea. He felt that he had been pretty damned clear about what he wanted.

“Stop,” Castiel said, voice deep with authority. “No touching me until you have my permission. I won’t – and I am serious – be able to stop myself if you keep this up. And I will hurt you if that happens.”

It was with much regret that Dean moved the hands of the soft wings, slowly stroking his way down over Castiel’s back until he let them fall to the bed with a soft thud.

“I will behave.”

“Yes. You will stay still,” Cas agreed, seriousness written all over his face as he kissed his way down Dean’s naked upper body once again. When his lips connected with Dean’s nipple, he was unable to lie still as a warm surge cursed from the point and southwards. He gasped for air, earning himself a satisfied smirk from the angel who continued to alternate between soft licks and gentle scrapes of teeth against the sensitive skin. Once he had Dean flushed and achingly hard in his pants, he moved downwards, terrorizingly slow. He was naked just seconds after, Castiel losing his patience as well. Rather than prepping him fast, the angel devoured the moment, circling his long fingers around Dean’s hole, spreading the oil he had retrieved at some point. Dean hadn’t noticed.

Dean fought hard to stay still, hands clenching the bedding. He was vaguely aware that he was begging the angel to start doing something already, to fuck him, not caring that he hadn’t even been fingered yet and was a far cry from prepared for that.

Castiel smirked at him before pushing in the first finger, agonizingly slow. The angel moved so they could kiss while he fingered Dean. He barely noticed it when another finger was pushed in, slowly scissoring him open with practiced movements. The stretch burned through him, made him fuzzy with the need for Cas to hurry up and get in him already. It was so different from their first time together, taking their time to appreciate one another.

“Please, Cas. I need you.”

“I will hurt you.”

“I want that. I want to feel this a week from now.”

“Don’t worry. You will feel it for a lot longer than that,” Cas promised, making Dean shutter, even though he did not obey. Instead, he fingered Dean with even more deliberate movements before adding in a third finger, stretching him open. Dean moaned, his dick throbbing with need, precum leaking down over his stomach. If Cas weren’t going to fuck him, he would hopefully not deny his dick attention for much longer.

Dean was almost ready to pray to gods or whoever were needed to get Cas to hurry up and do something already when the angel _finally_ shed his pants and oiled up his own throbbing member. Seeing how hard he was made Dean aware that he was not the only one who had practically suffered through the preparation. Still, the angel took the time to keep Dean’s gaze while he oiled himself up, making a show of what he was about to bury balls deep in Dean.

Dean gasped for air when he felt the blunt head pulse against his hole. Cas stopped, eyes on him before he slowly moved, pushing inside Dean while reminding him to breath with gentle words and soft kisses. Suddenly Dean was quite happy that his angel had insisted so much on prepping him the way he had.

“Can I touch you?” he gasped once Cas was fully seated.

“Yes,” the angel agreed, eyes glowing even before Dean’s fingers contacted with his soft feathers. He did not waste time asking Dean if he was sure again. At first, the movements were soft, but they quickly grew more frantic and desperate as Castiel’s self-control seemed to crumble beneath him like he tried to grab water with open fingers.

His hand was firmly placed against Dean’s shoulder, warmth spreading from there, but a very different heat from the one overtaking the rest of his body. He closed his eyes, meeting Castiel’s thrust with willingly moving hips. It felt so good, so right. His orgasm was building low in his stomach, even though his dick had been denied attention altogether.

The heat from Castiel’s hand grew. When Dean opened his eyes, all he saw was how bright blue eyes glowed at him, how the overly earthly light seemed to be all Castiel now too, making his skin seem slightly transparent.

“Dean.” His name on the angel’s lips sounded like a prayer.

“Please,” he answered, meeting Castiel in a deep kiss, the heat overpowering him as he felt Castiel buckle inside him, their bodies moving like they had been created for that moment.

He cried out when the orgasm overtook him, white light blinding him as Castiel moaned against his neck, fire spilling inside his body, from where the hand was firmly placed around his shoulder.

How long it took before he was able to open up his eyes again, he had no idea. Castiel was out like a light, halfway besides Dean, halfway covering him. Dean’s arm throbbed with something that was not quite pain, and looking down he could see the raised handprint where Castiel had placed his hand.

With a soft sound of contentment, he curled against the angel, falling asleep once again.

 

Dean later learned that when Cas had said “eternity” he had meant it, their soulbond allowing Dean to age like Castiel did. He was thankful that his tastebuds did not decide on food tasting like molecules.

 

They lived mostly happy ever after.

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